


spinning like a weathervane

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex needs a hug, Alternate version of 2x06, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fill, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Kyle properly treats Alex's stab wound after 2x06 (or a slightly different version thereof).
Relationships: Alex Manes & Kyle Valenti
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71





	spinning like a weathervane

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt from rensbaratheon on Tumblr: "Kyle or Liz wanting to talk to Alex about his suicidal ideation."
> 
> I couldn’t figure out a way to make this related to what Alex told Michael in 2x10, not without dealing with the whole kidnapping thing, but then I realized it didn’t have to be related. I’m not sure why this wanted to be post 2x06, but it is. Or, a slightly different version of 2x06. 
> 
> My headcanons for Alex’s background here are the same I used in setting fire to our insides (for fun).
> 
> [suicide ideation, mentions of suicide attempt, mentions of bullying and child abuse, vague description of a dead person, stab wound, vague mentions of the 2x06 scene]

“Hey,” Alex opens the door, blinking hard at the light. He squints and looks away from Kyle to wave him in, feeling like his head is going to split open. “Sorry.”

“Hangover?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah. It's fine, it'll go away.” Alex hops back on his crutch awkwardly, unstable. His left shoulder is too painful to take his weight, or he would have grabbed both crutches. Hangovers mess badly with his balance.

Kyle follows him into the living room. “I'm guessing that's not why you called me?”

“No. I, uh, I kinda got stabbed?”

“You got what?” Kyle stammers.

“Yesterday was...complicated,” Alex mutters. He sits down on his piano bench, both because it allows him to face away from the eastern windows and because he doesn't think he'll be able to get up again if he lets himself get comfortable in an armchair. He leans his crutches against the keyboard.

“Are you bleeding? Show me. When did this happen?”

Alex sighs and  starts trying to takes his shirt−Michael's shirt−off. It was easier to put it on. Or maybe he just ignored the pain when he rushed to get dressed this morning, Michael and Maria's eyes on him and  discomfort seeping into his bones.  It's harder to ignore, now that his brain doesn't register any immediate threat. Plus, both his head and his leg are killing him. He spent the whole night with his prosthesis on,  almost twenty-four hours of walking and riding in a car  and  _fucking getting stabbed_ , and it did a number on his stump.

“It was cleaned up and treated, but I'm pretty sure it needs a couple stitches,” he says. 

“What did this?” Kyle asks, coming to kneel down in front of Alex, setting down his medical bag. “ _Who_ did this?”

“Doesn't matter.” Alex grits his teeth as Kyle carefully rips off the bandage. Sure enough, the injury is still seeping blood. “He's taken care of. And it was an ice pick. Before you ask, yes, I'm up to date with my shots. Not my first stabbing.”

“That is _not_ reassuring. Did you lose a lot of blood? Felt lightheaded?”

Alex shakes his head. “I, uh, fainted, but I think it was just the pain. The drive back was not fun.”

Kyle prods at the wound, making Alex hiss in pain. “ This definitely needs stitches.  I need you to give me a timeline here. When did you get stabbed?”

Alex watches him start to prepare his kit.  “Around midnight.”

“Eighteen hours ago. And why didn't you call me right away?” Kyle asks without looking up.

“It wasn't that bad. Beside, we were in the middle of nowhere. Maria called Michael to tow us back.”

“You were with Maria and Michael,” Kyle states flatly.

“Well, just with Maria. We were tracking down a lead on Mimi's kidnapping. Guy attacked me, chased Maria, she knocked him out, and his twin shot him. Michael showed up and drove us back, and they patched me up.” Alex leaves the rest out. The awkward hours in the car, trying to breathe through the pain and _not_ watch Maria only have eyes for Michael. How his heart broke in a million pieces, again, watching Michael so scared for Maria, watching them kiss. How he still couldn't take his eyes away from him, couldn't stand up and leave, call a ride-share or something, anything, anything not to have to watch this.

How Maria kissed him. How she grabbed his hand and put it on Michael's thigh. What could have happened, if Michael hadn't inadvertently elbowed Alex straight into his wound and Alex hadn't nearly passed out from the pain.

He will always wonder, probably. Call it morbid curiosity. By then, he was already floating far out of his body, his brain incapable of processing things.  Disappearing, like he's always done when it gets too hard.  Michael's shock brought him back hard, harder than any pain could have.

“And when was that?”

“We got back at dawn. Michael−” Alex pauses to grit his teeth as Kyle starts to stitch him up, “−drove me back here.”

“And none of you thought to call me? Or, you know, do what most people do when they're injured and drive to the nearest ER?”

Kyle's tone is sarcastic, but his worry is real. And that's exactly why Alex hoped until now to avoid having to tell him. “I was fine,” he says. It took him almost fifteen minutes to convince Michael that he didn't have to stay out of guilt, that he could go back to the Airstream where Maria waited. It took him almost a full hour to decide that the only way he was going to forget about that and finally sleep was  the bottle of Patron in his liquor cabinet.

“That's when you decided to get hammered?” Kyle asks, finishing his last knot.

Alex shrugs. “Seemed better than just offing myself at the time,” he jokes.

Kyle's response is very much not what he expected−not that Alex knows what he expected. Kyle's face goes slack with shock and he stares at Alex for a solid thirty seconds,  bloody hands and needles forgotten .  At least he's already finished the stitches, Alex thinks a little hysterically.

“Alex,” he says slowly, deliberately moving his hands into Alex's sight so he doesn't come off as a threat. “Do you mean that? What you just said.”

Alex replays it in his head, quickly, trying to figure out where the hitch is. Oh. Right, regular people don't react well to that. He forgot, again. Last time Karl dragged him straight to the base hospital and he had to argue for half-an-hour with the on-call therapist that it was just a joke. And Karl knew way more than Kyle  does about gallows humor.

Alex goes to deny it, go back on his words, but the thought of Karl−of his body sprawled on Alex's, eyes unseeing, heavy, so heavy, so still−makes him grimace against his will. And the moment has passed, it's too late to just wave it away. The concern is anchored in Kyle's eyes now and won't just leave.

Alex works his jaw, hesitating. “I'm not going to do anything.”

“But you think about it.”

Alex doesn't deny it.

“You know what it is, right?” Kyle asks, biting his lip. He's clearly unsure how to proceed, but he's not going to let it go. Alex wishes they could have this conversation at another time. His head feels far too heavy for his neck, and he wants to support it with his hand, but Kyle will be looking for any sign of distress, now. Which means that Alex won't get any respite. Fuck.

“Yes, Kyle, I've been to therapy. Still go. I know what suicide ideation is. Always had the thoughts. Never tried anything, beside the once, and I won't.”

Kyle's face shifts. And...fuck. Alex's brain-to-mouth filter is fucked, he's still half drunk.  He didn't mean to let that slip.

“You attempted suicide?” Kyle asks carefully.

Alex swallows. “I was fourteen. I thought I'd hit rock bottom. I was pretty naive. Look, just because I think of it doesn't mean I actually want to do it. It doesn't work like that. It's just...thought patterns. That's where my mind goes when I feel bad, that's all. It's a coping mechanism.”

Kyle doesn't answer, and he goes back to treating Alex's wound, slowly and deliberately. More disinfectant makes Alex screw up his face at the sting. Kyle covers it in gauze and tapes a bandage over it, cleaner and better than Michael's was. Alex watches him, wondering if this will change everything between them. Once they got over their history, Kyle has been pretty good at respecting his agency, not mothering him because of his disability. But things changed with Karl, when he found out. It was just a few weeks before−

Alex shakes his head to get rid of the thought. He focuses on his wound instead, because physical pain is always easier to deal with. He rolls his shoulder to check his range of motion. Good enough, though using a crutch on that side will hurt for a while. Hiding it at work shouldn't be too hard, at least.

“Fourteen,” Kyle says suddenly. “That's when we stopped talking.”

Something cold settles inside Alex. “ Don't you dare think it was your fault,” he snarls.

“Okay, okay,” Kyle physically backs off. “I just−I think about what I did to you a lot.”

“Look, you were a dick, but you were also just a kid. If you want to blame someone, blame my father. Not yourself.”

“As long as you remember that that's valid for you, too,” Kyle says with a raised eyebrow.

Alex looks away. He won't admit that Kyle hit a nerve, but this rings far too true.

“I'm done here,” Kyle changes the subject. “You hurt anywhere else?”

“No. Spent too much time on my leg, but that will heal on its own.”

“You need rest. I don't want you at work for at least two days. I'll write you a note, or whatever form you need to get medical leave.”

“Kyle, I can't afford my supervisors finding out what I'm doing with my free time.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Then taking a couple sick days because of your prior injury is better than showing up sleep-deprived and with a sore shoulder.”

“Fine,” Alex sighs. He could really use the sleep, he knows, but two days of running circles in his house thinking about Michael and Maria is not appealing. And that's if his brain doesn't decide that a little stabbing calls for a rerun of every trauma he's ever had.

“And Alex? Please at least call your therapist?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “Yeah, I will.”

He doesn't see her regularly anymore, but he knows this is the right call. At least Kyle isn't trying to get him to do more, like seek inpatient help.

“Thank you,” he adds, without looking at Kyle who is zipping up his bag.

“You want me to stay?” Kyle offers. “Get some pizza, watch a movie or something?”

“You're just off your shift, you must be dying to get home,” Alex says.

“Nah. No one there waiting for me. I'll just do the same at my place. Feel like some company?”

Alex hesitates for a moment. “Sure.”

“Then get comfortable,” Kyle smiles, kicking off his shoes. He gestures at the TV. “You got Netflix on this?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments make my day :)
> 
> You can come chat with me over on [Tumblr](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/)


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